“Oh, I don’t expect you to speak right now. I am perfectly happy to let you stew a little longer about your fate.” He stroked at his side whiskers, and his fingers came away with a trace of Macassar oil on their tips. “You see, I expect you to die. But if you give us the information we want, the process will be a good deal less painful for you.”
Arianna kept her expression impassive.
“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”
“Arguing with you would only be a waste of breath,” she murmured. “Am I excused? The household expects to eat at noon.”
“Go.” He placed the blade atop the captain’s sheaf of notes. “But be assured, you haven’t heard the last from me.”
3
The cacao tree was a symbol not only of health but of wealth. A prized commodity, the beans were used as currency by Aztecs. The missionary mentions seeing a local document that listed some of the trading values—a tomato cost one cacao bean, an avocado cost three beans, and a turkey hen cost 100 beans. . . . The next few pages of his journal show some sketches of various drinking vessels for cacao. Oh, how I should like to find one of the ceremonial cups, made from a hollow gourd, that were used to serve the army its elixir. It would make a special gift for Sandro, and perhaps keep him safe. . . .
1 stick (½ cup) unsalted butter, plus 2 melted tablespoons
½ cup stout, such as Mackeson or Guinness (pour stout slowly into measuring cup; do not measure foam)
½ cup packed soft pitted prunes (6 ounces), chopped
3½ ounces fine-quality bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened or extra-bitter), chopped
1¼ cups all-purpose flour
¼ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1. Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Lightly brush 6-cup Bundt pan or 8-by-3-inch ovenproof ring mold with half the melted butter and chill 2 minutes. Then butter again and chill while making batter.
2. Bring stout to a boil in a small saucepan and add prunes. Remove from heat and let stand until most of liquid is absorbed.
3. Meanwhile, melt chocolate and remaining stick butter together in a small heavy saucepan over low heat, stirring constantly. Sift together flour, baking soda, and salt into a bowl.
4. Beat together eggs, brown sugar, and vanilla in a large bowl with an electric mixer at high speed until thick, about 2 minutes. Add chocolate mixture and beat until just combined. Reduce speed to low and add flour mixture, mixing until just combined. Stir in prune mixture until combined well. Spoon batter into pan and bake until a wooden skewer inserted into middle of cake comes out clean, 40 to 45 minutes.
5. Cool cake in mold on a rack 10 minutes, then invert onto rack to cool completely, at least 30 minutes.
“Thank you for coming to see me, Lord Saybrook.” Grentham didn’t look up from the document he was reading. “I trust that the request did not inconvenience you.”
Without waiting for an invitation, Alessandro Henry George De Quincy, the fifth Earl of Saybrook, shifted his cane and sat down in the chair facing the desk. “Not at all. I am always at the beck and call of the government.”
Grentham dipped his pen in ink and wrote a lengthy notation in the paper’s margin before setting his work aside. “How kind.” Narrowing his gunmetal-gray eyes, he subjected Saybrook to a lengthy scrutiny.
The earl stared back, seemingly unconcerned that he looked like he had just crawled out of the deepest, darkest corner of hell. His long black hair was neatly combed and his face freshly shaven, but no brush or razor could disguise the ravages that pain and narcotics had wrought on his body. Sallow skin stretched over bones sharp as sabers, bruised shadows accentuated his hollow cheeks, and his clothes hung loosely on his lanky frame.
Grentham, on the other hand, was immaculately attired in a charcoal coat of superfine wool, which set off the starched folds of his snowy cravat to perfection.
“But now that we have met,” the minister went on, “I cannot help but wonder whether your trip here was a waste of both your time and mine.”
“My uncle has explained the task at hand,” replied Saybrook, matching the other man’s sardonic tone. “If I did not feel myself up to its rigors, I should not have bothered coming here.” After allowing a fraction of a pause, he added, “One of the first lessons I learned as an army intelligence officer was that appearances can often be deceiving.”
Grentham’s nostrils flared for an instant, but he covered his displeasure with a bland smile. “So, you think that you are capable of rising to the occasion, Lord Saybrook?” Again the gunmetal gaze raked over the earl’s legs. “Despite your infirmity?”
“I assure you, sir, my infirmity does not affect my performance.”
The minister folded his well-tended hands on his blotter. “And yet, according to the surgeon’s report on you, the French saber cut perilously close to your manhood. I wonder . . .”
Saybrook maintained a mask of indifference. “Do you anticipate that the job will entail swiving one of the witnesses?” He paused for a fraction. “Or buggering the cook?”
“Are you fond of boys, Lord Saybrook?” countered Grentham.
“Not unnaturally so,” he answered.
“And women?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Let us just say that I am curious,” replied the minister.
“And let us just say that I am not inclined to satisfy your curiosity.”
“You are very clever, Lord Saybrook. But cleverness can sometimes lead a man into trouble.”
“So can stupidity.” Appearing to tire of the cat-and-mouse word games, Saybrook regripped his cane. “If you wish to speak about the assignment, let us do so. Otherwise, I will return to my town house. You have obviously read a thorough dossier on me, so I imagine you have already decided whether you think me fit for the job.”
“A written report can tell only so much about a man,” replied the minister. “I prefer to judge for myself before making a final decision.”
Saybrook started to rise.
“Please sit, Lord Saybrook.” Papers shuffled. “I’ve been told that you are—for lack of a better term—an expert in chocolate. Might I inquire how you came to be so?” An edge of sarcasm crept into his voice. “Assuming that I am not offending your delicate sensibilities with my questions.”
“My Spanish grandmother passed on her knowledge to me,” replied Saybrook. “In Andalusia, she was renowned for her healing skills, as well as her cooking talents.”
“Cooking,” repeated Grentham as he plucked a page from his notes and reread it. “Your grandmother was a countess—is that not correct?”
“Yes. But in Spain, highborn ladies have a different notion of what is—and isn’t—beneath their station. Cuisine is not menial labor—it is an art. As is healing,” said the earl. “She was interested in the medicinal properties of many foods and plants, including Theobroma cacao.”
The minister frowned.
“The Latin name for the tree that yields cacao beans,” he explained. “I studied botany at Oxford before joining the army.”
“A strange combination.”
“Not as strange as you might think,” said Saybrook. “The ancient Aztec soldiers used chocolate as a stimulant—”
“I am not interested in a scientific lecture,” snapped Grentham. “What I want to know is this—in your learned opinion, could chocolate in and of itself have poisoned the Prince Regent?”